


something to live for

by iwantacorgisobad



Category: The Maze Runner Series - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst and Humor, Eventual Fluff, First Kiss, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, M/M, Newt (Maze Runner) Lives, Post-The Death Cure, Safe Haven, and then it ended with humor anyway, it's really stupid but i hope you'll like it, stupid boys in love, the original idea was humor so naturally it became angst, warning: explicit mentions of Newt's letter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-11
Updated: 2018-04-11
Packaged: 2019-04-21 15:46:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,068
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14288211
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iwantacorgisobad/pseuds/iwantacorgisobad
Summary: When Thomas played with the thought of Newt surviving he always imagined a joyful, relieved, smiling boy. The Newt who had survived was the exact opposite, though, and Thomas soon realized he had to do something about it - and if that 'something' meant reading his goodbye letter and crying with him, then so be it.//blame the hurry of schoolwork-due-tomorrow-and-it's-already-late for the terrible summary lol//





	something to live for

**Author's Note:**

> first, i'd like to thank my big sis and my bestie for inspiring me to write this fic, a big shoutout to you gals ~(˘▾˘~)  
> second, it's literally based off of a silly something i said while at a convention last weekend, so it might be out of character, pls excuse that (´༎ຶ ͜ʖ ༎ຶ `)♡  
> third, i seem to have a weird obsession with these emojis and that was a psa ¯\\_( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)_/¯  
> and lastly, enjoy! (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧

It’d been over weeks since they had arrived at Safe Haven – and ironically enough, it wasn’t a safe journey for quite a few of them. Shot in the side, or stabbed in the abdomen, or broken a bone, maybe even been tested for months, all magnified by the rush of adrenaline caused by the attack of the Cranks on the Last City. No one wondered why, on the journey to the island, most of them were so quiet you could hear a pin drop.

Physical wounds were quick to heal, though: where the bullet had entered Thomas’ side mere weeks ago was already but a fading scar, marked mostly by where the stitches were; Teresa had crutches but was almost as quick at chasing the boys around as she had been before; Minho was even more energized day by day; it was only Newt who seemed to suffer a little longer.

Thomas took note of that, how he went outside of their shared cottage and sat by the log in the sand almost every evening because walking around all day strained his muscles so much he couldn’t stay awake without pulling faces and he didn’t want him to see – he never told him, but Thomas knew, by how he avoided his eyes every time he tried to talk to him on these nights –; he took note of how Newt subconsciously put his hands on his belly whenever he lay down and how he absent-mindedly rubbed at his bandages even while he was having fun with their friends; he took note of his limp barely getting better since the events in the Last City; of the soft glow of gratitude in his eyes; of the lingering atmosphere of something still needing to be said but remaining unspoken between them.

It was most present on nights when they stayed up late together, or, rather, when Thomas decided to wait for Newt to come back from the beach. He knew it very well the older only remained outside so long because he wanted to avoid any chances of having to talk – late nights were the time for deep conversations, and Newt felt unready to face them. Thomas didn’t blame him, though, if anything, he was growing more worried with each passing day.

“You can’t run away from it forever,” he said one night, just as Newt walked over to his bed in the dark room, suddenly remembering the time the two of them and Frypan had left for the Last City. Newt stopped dead in his tracks, his hands staying still in the air for a few seconds as he regained his composure before slipping under the covers.

“Thought ya were sleepin’ already,” he replied, voice barely a whisper, but he was at least facing Thomas. He propped himself up on an elbow to get a better view of Newt, although the faint moonlight did little to illuminate the room – but it did make him appear a lot paler.

“I was thinking about it when you didn’t come back for the past two hours,” he admitted, cracking a half-hearted smile, “but I decided I cared more about hearing you out.”

Newt fought hard to keep breathing evenly but he inevitably missed a beat and he wasn’t sure why: if it was because he’d have to talk now, or because of how much it touched him that Thomas was so concerned. As soon as his eyes got used to the dim light, he found it was more likely the latter, the genuine worry marring his features made every defensive instinct in Newt melt away and made him feel sorry for causing the boy so much trouble.

He soon realized the reason of the sudden silence was Thomas waiting for his response, which he began with a sigh, “It’s… kind of crazy for me right now.”

“Yeah, that much I can see,” he nodded, gesturing a little with his hands before letting him continue.

“The Flare made me forget so many things,” he said softly, turning onto his back instead to look at the ceiling as he spoke. And there his hands were on his stomach again. “But also, a lot of memories came back. Childhood memories. Things from before the Maze.”

Thomas silently gasped at that, earning the faintest of a smile from Newt. “It’s weird, isn’t it?” he asked, hinting at when he purposefully stung himself with the Griever’s detached, what, arm? to get his memories back.

“Yeah, and what freaks me out the most is that I… I had a very hard time remembering vital things, but a lot of these came back very quick,” he explained, using his hands to help himself out with his say, “I couldn’t remember my name for days… people were telling me but I kept forgetting, I couldn’t remember how I got there, the last few days were a haze altogether—and I couldn’t even remember your face.”

Thomas sucked in a sharp breath again, feeling his heartbeat pick up slightly, but he forced himself to stay silent, to just listen to what Newt had to say. As hard as it was to get him to speak, he somewhat proudly acknowledged he knew him well enough to know that all it took was to get him started and he’d spill from there.

“All I knew was that there was someone named Tommy whom I had to find, but I didn’t know who to look for,” he said, but the moment his voice cracked Thomas knew he had to backtrack as soon as possible.

“It’s okay, hey,” he soothed, already on his feet by the time Newt could even register what was happening. Thomas was by his side in a heartbeat, and he looked up at him as if he had solved all of his problems just by standing beside him. Around his neck was the necklace he had given him.

“Sit down,” he almost ordered, flicking the lamp on with a newfound excitement. Thomas blinked at him somewhat bewildered but sat down on the edge of the bed anyway, trying to get his eyes used to the sudden light when he felt a tentative hand on his shoulder. “Take that off.”

He was clearly baffled by then, motioning at his pyjama shirt in confusion, but Newt just rolled his eyes and pointed at the necklace. “No, that.”

“Oh,” was all he could choke out, and he realized he didn’t even want to say anything else. He took it off and handed it to Newt, who screwed the end off and pulled out a few sheets of crumpled, rolled up paper. He then offered it back to Thomas; he had never thought the pendant served this purpose before.

“It’s...you know, I wrote it when I thought I was going to die,” he admitted, first unsure of how to go about wording it, but then deciding to be blunt – that would be the easiest way. Thomas hesitated for a few seconds, his chest tight and his heart beating in his throat before he dared unfold the sheets. “Now that we both know I’m alive there’s probably no reason for you to read this but—”

“No, silly,” Thomas shook his head, shifting further up on the bed to rest his back against the wall. Newt followed suit, folding his legs and leaning into the corner to put the least possible pressure on his abdomen as he watched the younger’s face intently.

Thomas read the letter carefully, his face so still the only indication of him actually reading was his eyes darting back and forth between the lines. Newt didn’t notice at first, but his lips tightened into a firm line and he was probably clenching his jaw as well, and he didn’t really dare to look up to his eyes anymore – he was sniffling by the time he got to the second page anyway. Newt had to try very hard to hold back his own tears, not only because the reality of how close he had been to dying hit him just then, but because seeing Thomas cry moved something inside him that was now pricking at his eyes.

“You honestly thought this would have cheered me up?” he asked finally, waving the letter in Newt’s face desperately. “When you’re sitting right beside me and I’m still crying?”

Newt chuckled half-heartedly – the kicked puppy look Thomas had on his face never failed to make him soften, even though he was already a completely different person around him. More sincere, he deduced, as he realized Thomas was the person who taught him that having feelings and openly showing them was okay, that he didn’t always have to be tough, that he could let his guard down sometimes. And he was more than thankful for it.

“I didn’t mean for it to cheer you up,” he confessed, first straightening only one leg, then the other, not even trying to hide the fact he was just trying to sit closer to him. “I wanted you to have something to remember me by. And I know it’s irrelevant now, but I meant everything I wrote there.”

Thomas didn’t say anything for a while, nor did he sniff anymore, he just stared first at Newt, then at the letter again, “How could you not be afraid of death? After so much pain, didn’t you want something better before… you know?”

Newt shook his head, a fond, soft smile making its way to his lips, just as his hand found its own to Thomas’ knee, “I already had it. When you’ve already tried to end it once… you see a lot of things in a different light. My ‘better’ was you… and I didn’t realize it until the very end. But, if I were to go down with this much behind me, it’d still be okay.”

Thomas wiped at his face, then took advantage of the letter still in his hands to emphasize his gestures, “When I thought I had lost you—you know, there really wasn’t anything left for me to fight for,” he said matter-of-factly, even adding a little shrug, “I thought, ‘why go on now? what for?’. But I didn’t regret doing it because at least Teresa is safe now, and we made sure WCKD will never, ever find us again…” he chuckled, only then realizing his eyes had wandered from Newt’s face to his hand resting on his knee. And it somehow felt like it belonged there.

He didn’t continue – he would have had other things to say but decided it was best to keep them for himself. Instead, he just let his gaze rest on their legs brushing against each other, let himself take in the intimate atmosphere of the room in the soft, warm light and with the two messed up beds, their personal belongings slowly but steadily scattering every surface in the little cottage. It felt like home.

“There are things that I regret not doing, though,” Newt said, seemingly on a roll of confessions. Thomas blinked up at him but then focused back on their surroundings, sensing he was probably better at listening if he didn’t have to look Newt in the eyes. He might would’ve just started crying again. “I regret not having enough fun,” he snickered, thinking back to those six long months they had spent trying to find Minho, when there would have been enough space and time for relaxing but he just didn’t let himself.

“It’s okay,” Thomas cut in with a half-hearted shrug, knocking his knee against Newt’s, even though they were already close together. “You have all the time in the world to have fun now.”

“I know, and you do, too,” he reminded him, returning the teasing with lightly pushing his shoulder against his. Thomas let out a breathy laugh, finally deciding he was brave enough to put his hand on Newt’s resting on his knee. He had expected some kind of reaction besides the faint, fond smile from before that didn’t even appear then, it just hadn’t left, but he decided it might’ve been for the best that Newt didn’t say anything. He sighed then, though, and the smile disappeared for real, “But that’s not the only thing I regret.”

“No, Newt, seriously,” he shook his head, squeezing his hand tentatively, “stop it. It’s okay. Whatever it is, it’s okay now.”

Newt didn’t let Thomas hush him, resisting with a shake of his head, “I regret taking you bloody idiots for granted, after we survived the Scorch I thought we were safe and I was so sure of it, and then… everything went to klunk again.”

“It’s okay now, though,” he said, glaring now, not even noticing how he held his hand even tighter than before – he only loosened his grip when he felt Newt move his fingers around. Thomas realized then that he hated when Newt was in a bad mood.

“It’s not, and it never will be,” he sighed, glancing at the door, probably trying to locate where Minho’s cottage could be through the walls. His eyes remained there for a while and Thomas finally tried to catch them, but Newt looked away again. “I sort of regret just… writing you a letter like that and not telling you anything personally.”

“It’s cool, man, I wouldn’t—I wouldn’t have accepted it anyway,” he murmured, an absent-minded smile playing at the corners of his mouth. “You would’ve told me personally and I probably would’ve flipped shit.”

Newt finally laughed, squeezing Thomas’ hand as a means of thanking him for his first honest laugh in a very long time, even though he soon realized there was nothing funny about it – besides Thomas cursing. Which wasn’t a rare occurrence anyway. “Maybe, but you probably would’ve got it at first, and you wouldn’t have to be here waiting for me try to get my klunk together—”

“It’s okay, I’ve already said it, Newt” he shushed, clearly intent on changing the topic – and the blond couldn’t really blame him for it. He just wanted it out so bad already, and it seemed like the perfect occasion.

He grabbed both of Thomas’ hands, forcing him to settle for a second and look him in the eyes, then took a deep breath, “What I’m trying to say is… I regret not telling you sooner that I…” he breathed out, then in again, “I love you. I’m in love with you.”

“It’s okay,” he replied immediately, as if on instinct; and then his stomach dropped. “I mean—it is but that’s not—it’s not what I meant.”

Newt was already laughing before he could even realize it, his subconscious yanking up the walls he had built throughout the years again in a blink of an eye. He thought, for a second, that maybe confessing this wasn’t the best idea he’d ever had, but he felt relieved anyway. Maybe their friendship would never be the same, but there would be no secrets – only if Thomas had any.

Said boy, though, was licking his lips every other second now as he was trying to make up for such a blunt response, eyes darting back and forth between Newt’s face and their clasped hands, but he didn’t seem like he wanted to get away. Which was a good sign, the blond told himself, as he kept waiting for an explanation. Or a reaction. Anything.

“It’s… more than okay, actually,” Thomas finally said, looking somewhat proud of the little answer that took him minutes to construct. Newt only shook his head with an affectionate smile, with barely a hint of regret left, but didn’t do anything yet. “It was kind of unexpected, but—”

“Blimey, you just read that letter and you’re still surprised?” he rolled his eyes, remembering how Frypan had teased him about writing a love letter. It wasn’t one, though, as Newt always defended himself, because there weren’t any direct declarations of love. Sure, ‘ _I knew I’d follow you anywhere_ ’ and ‘ _Take care of yourself. You deserve to be happy_ ’ might have been a little too obvious for anyone else, but Thomas apparently didn’t catch on.

“Oh my god,” he mumbled, and Newt could almost physically see the pieces of the puzzle fall into place in front of his eyes. “But—what now?”

“What ‘what now’?” he blinked, unadulteratedly taken aback, dropping his hands back on Thomas’ knee – that he hadn’t even realized he’d lifted to intertwine their fingers. “It’s…kinda up to you now,” he said, unsure.

“So, it’d be okay if I—just kissed you right now?” he asked, feeling the pace of his heartbeat pick up; not necessarily because of kissing his so-thought best friend, but rather because of how close he was to messing up.

Newt rolled his eyes, leaning closer to accentuate what he was going to say next, “No, I’d never forgive that, bloody unacceptable.”

And, somehow, Thomas finally seemed to catch on as he pressed his own smirking lips against Newt’s in a tender kiss.

 

 

It was past midnight already; the two of them lay in the same, one-person bed, pressed close against each other in a tangled mess of limbs, and with faces buried in each other’s neck and hair. Newt was already dozing off, Thomas’ soothing fingers rubbing circles on his back making it feel even easier to give in to sleep – only, then, the younger started complaining.

“This bed is too small, my butt is hanging off the edge,” he muttered, but didn’t really move, not yet.

“We’ll push the beds together tomorrow, slim it,” Newt replied, making a half-assed attempt at kissing his forehead as reassurance. Thomas mumbled something incoherent, and dug his fingers a little deeper into Newt’s back as he scooted closer, practically pressing him against the wall. He let out a soft groan but didn’t protest, guessing that was exactly what Thomas wanted anyway.

They were silent once more, Newt’s breathing starting to slow down and steady again, when Thomas spoke – again. “Hey, Newt, about your letter…”

“Oh lord, what?”

“’ _The perfect moment the sun hit the Glade before it disappeared behind the walls_ ’? Could you be any cheesier?” he teased, perfectly aware Newt could feel his smirk as his face was squeezed against his neck. Newt shivered at the movement of Thomas’ lips, but still managed to knee him in the thigh just painfully enough to shut him up.


End file.
